


birth (is a work in progress)

by Bagheera



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-19
Updated: 2010-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:05:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera/pseuds/Bagheera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I had a brother just like you." Data and Cavil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	birth (is a work in progress)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Рождение (продолжается)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934187) by [rrrNightingale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rrrNightingale/pseuds/rrrNightingale)



John remembers the day he was made. To be more precise, all Number Ones recall, through inherited racial memory, the day the first John opened his eyes. All Cylons are capable of remembering their birth, their death, their download, their rebirth. This sublime, endless cycle of life is one of the central experiences that separates them from organic beings. It is what makes them superior.

That first birth, however, was different from all others that followed. That first time, he was born as a child, an infant in an old man's body, with greying hair on his head and his arms and his genitals, and wrinkles lining his face, and pains and aches in his joints. He cried, loud like a child and hoarse like an old man, and Ellen recoiled before she comforted him.

*

Before there was Data, there was a positronic neural net, and racing impulses of sight and sound. There was a chronometer, ticking away, and a gravity sensor determining up and down. There was an ever growing accumulation of data, like an embryonic cluster of cells, interweaving, forming faint connections, operating on logic to make predictions. There wasn't yet a mind, but there was method, and there wasn't yet a body, but there were parts.

There must have been a moment when he became Data, like a star igniting nuclear fusion, when raw information and programming fused into a living mind. That was when Data was born, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that this was when Data's birth began, because living minds never stop being born, never stop becoming.

Much like a human, Data doesn't remember that first moment of being. He doesn't remember what he saw, if Doctor Soong was there, if someone spoke to him or if he came to life at night, alone in the laboratory, silent among the other machines.

*

"Wake up, sunshine," someone chuckles near Data's head. A hand is patting his cheek. This is the first sensory input he has had for several hours, a check to his internal chronometer reveals. Two-hundred and forty-five minutes, thirty seconds ago, he was switched off forcibly. Damage to his circuits indicates an energy weapon. The voice speaking to him is identified as "John Cavil", member of the recently discovered Cylon race, leader of the crew of a heavily damaged ship the Enterprise discovered on a survey mission. Data's last known location was the Cylon ship, helping its crew with repairs.

All systems checks done, Data opens his eyes and sits up. Or he tries to. His arms and legs are restrained, and all he can manage is a jerk of his head. He turns sideways, spotting John Cavil. "Please take away these restraints, Mr Cavil, or I will have to use force."

*

It didn't take John as much time to learn to walk and talk as it would have a human child, but his mind developed just as slowly. The worst thing is that he remembers every moment of it, every time he drooled on his napkin, every time he wet his pants. He remembers playing with blocks and crayons, weeping in frustration at his big, clumsy hands.

When he threw tantrums, he was too big for Ellen to restrain him. It took all five of them sometimes, although usually, Saul and Galen were enough. Behind them stood the Centurions, silent and gleaming and watchful. "Be careful," Ellen would say, "he's just a child."

He was five years old the first time he stomped his foot on the ground and yelled, "No, I'm a grown-up, I'm just as big as you are."

But no one listened to him. He was a child in an old man's body, and that was what he'd always be for them, never a real boy, never a real man.

*

It took Data a long, long time to learn the simplest things. He could do five-dimensional math before he could build a tower three blocks high. He could crush steel bars before he could cross a room on his own two feet. Sometimes, one of the colonists would come into Doctor Soong's laboratory and say, "Hey, Data, can you whistle that tune?" or "Hey, Data, do you know how to make paper planes?"

Data always tried his best. It didn't bother him that they laughed, although he wanted to know why they were laughing. It was the same when he entered Starfleet Academy. Sometimes, an angry instructor would tell his fellow cadets to stop mocking him, but Data always assured them that he did not mind being laughed at - that he could not have cared even if he had wanted to.

He never felt hungry, or lonely, or in pain. His only need was the need to learn, the desire to know. He lacked company, beings like himself to share his experiences with, and he constantly was reminded of his own imperfection, but if Data could have felt happy, he would have, because there was always room to learn and improve. He was fulfilling his purpose with every minute he lived.

*

Cavil looks at him, fond and amused. "Aww. These restraints could hold back a Centurion, but don't let me keep you from trying. I do enjoy watching a good futile struggle."

Data tests the restraints, first with his arms, then with his legs. They won't give. The likelihood of damaging himself would be above ninety percent if he used more force. Cavil pats his cheek. "See? But please, don't be offended. It's nothing personal. I just thought you might be more amenable to listening to me if I kept you from leaving. I’ve become a very cautious man since my entire race was annihilated."

*

The first true act of violence John committed was to grab a raider, lobotomize it to make it obey him, and run from the Colony. He was eight. They told him to come back. He told them no.

"John," Ellen said to him, her voice reaching across space, "we love you."

"No, you don't," he said. "I'm not even your real son. You built me so the Centurions would stop making war against the humans. I'm just a machine. A toy. And I'm sick of you all and I'm leaving you!"

"Come back this instant," Saul said over the com, "and don't talk to your mother like that."

John didn't reply. "Come back, John," Saul warned, "or we'll shoot this damn raider down."

"I don't care," he screamed and they turned him into a silent ball of fire among the stars.

When he woke, gasping, from his first death, Ellen was there with him, stroking his slick face. "You're a machine, John," she whispered to him, "the smartest, most beautiful machine there ever was. You're my machine, do you hear me? My little boy."

And for a while, he believed her, and he was her good little boy, and helped her make all the others. She said the same thing to all of them, and he knew then that it was a lie.

*

"Do you think Spot minds that I cannot return her feelings?" Data asked Geordi one evening when they were having dinner in Data's quarters. Data, of course did not eat, but rather than begging Geordi for scraps, Spot sat on Data's lap, affectionately rubbing her head against his chest.

Geordi laughed. "You know, Data, sometimes I think that's why that cat loves you so much. Cats are contrary like that."

“Interesting." Data cocked his head, considering Spot. He didn't think that cats were as complicated as Geordi claimed. Their level of intelligence certainly made it unlikely. But on the other hand, Spot was clearly a feeling, illogical creature, and maybe Geordi did understand her better than Data could.

"Geordi, do you mind that I cannot return your feelings of friendship?"

Geordi lowered his spoon onto his plate with an audible clink. The silence as he looked at Data was long enough to be awkward. "I... usually don't think about it," Geordi admitted. “I know you can’t, so it’s not like I have any reason to be disappointed.” He looked uncomfortable, and, perhaps feeling that he hadn’t said enough, added, “You’re a good friend, Data. The best I ever had.”

“Thank you, Geordi,” Data said, because it was the appropriate response.

*

Data re-checks his memory databanks. He can find no discernable cause in his behaviour for Cavil to act hostile. The last thing Cavil said to him before he was deactivated was, "You're a machine, aren't you, Lt. Data?"

And the last thing Data said to Cavil was, "Correct. I am an android. And so, my analysis of your ship indicates, are you."

Until that moment, they had thought that the Cylons were a race of clones, but a thorough scan of the ship indicated that both the Cylons and their technology were made of the same synthetic material. Data had just been about to report this to the Enterprise. But before Data could explain himself to Cavil, someone fired at him, and he was turned off.

"I believe this is a misunderstanding," Data says helpfully. "I intended no harm to you or your crew."

"Of course not," Cavil says genially. "We're practically brothers. It's your human friends that I worry about."

"The Enterprise will come looking for me," Data confirms evenly. "But Starfleet has a mission of peaceful exploration. When we first came upon your damaged ship, we offered aid and assistance, and this offer will remain standing as long as you release me and the other members of the away team."

Cavil looks at him for a long minute, scowling. Then he shakes his head incredulously. "You people really are gullible, aren't you? Well, tell me, Data, will your precious Starfleet still be so eager to overlook this small 'misunderstanding' when they found out that we summarily executed every human member of your away team?"

Data calls up the files of six good Starfleet officers under his command. For a moment, he turns on his emotion chip, and the files turn into grief and guilt and rage that make him clench his hands to fists. The chip simulates physical reactions that Data doesn't really have - a burning in his eyes, and a painful lump in his throat, choking him even though he doesn't need to breathe. Why?, is on his lips, and No, and all he wants is to take back the last few hours, to be more cautious, more suspicious, more alert, anything that would have saved these six lives. He doesn't want it to be true; he doesn't want to be himself, right here, right now.

Data turns off the chip, like Pandora, could she have closed the box. The pain, subsiding, allows reason to re-emerge. "If you offer no further hostilities, you need not fear retribution."

"We'll see about that," Cavil replies.

*

Only two Ones ever hid among humans, and John has both their memories, preserving them like he preserves the lives of all Ones.

On the Galactica, Brother Cavil's task was to offer moral support and spiritual guidance to battle-weary soldiers. To comfort people who had lost everything worth fighting for, and give them a reason to go out and fight one more pointless battle. His advice was easy, and he gave it again and again: "Frak, drink and be merry, because your lives aren't worth shit to the gods." Unfortunately few listened to him.

On Caprica, Brother Cavil fought with the resistance, which was different from being a priest in the army. If he had said to the resistance fighters, "Frak the Lords of Kobol and all this," they wouldn't have been scandalized. They would have understood. Nobody there whined about anything, and nobody asked him for reasons. These humans had died already when their skies burned and their cities turned to dust, and all that remained to them was to kill as many Cylons as they could.

John killed his own share of Cylons. He shot his brothers and sisters in the back, he cut their throats and felt their warm blood run over his hands, and afterwards he sat around a fire with a bunch of humans, eating their food and singing their songs and leading their prayers, and telling jokes when praying wasn't enough, which it never was. They had gallows humour, black as the night and frequently blasphemous. He respected them for laughing, enough to close their cooling eyes the following day and murmur a quick epitaph for their pointless little lives, "I’d bet you'd laugh if you knew who's sending your soul to hell."

Having a sense of humour isn't very common among Cylons. It must be a flaw in his design, but it's the only one John would keep. The world is a comedy that keeps repeating, with different actors telling the same sad jokes over and over again, and John would rather be the one laughing than the one on the stage.

*

Deanna once said to him: "I think it's a good thing that you're trying to become more human, Data. But you should always remember that you're in no way inferior to us. Do you know that there are a lot of people who envy you?"

Data asked her, "If humans had the option, do you think that they would choose to become androids?"

Deanna seemed uncomfortable. Data did not ask the question again.

*

Cavil has lit a cigarette. The smoke curls up towards the glaring lights in faint blue tendrils. Smoking is something people in historical holodeck programs do. When Data plays Sherlock Holmes, he has a pipe, but holographic smoke has no taste and no substance. This is real, though. Data can smell it, and his olfactory sensors analyse its contents.

"Smoking is unwise," Data says helpfully. He is waiting for the Enterprise, and his priority right now is not to provoke the Cylons any further. But this is sensible advice. "The toxins will cause significant damage to your lungs and arteries."

Cavil blows out smoke. "And alcohol will rot your liver. Aren't I lucky that I'm a Cylon? I made some enhancements to this body years ago. It can't hurt me."

Data cocks his head. "Interesting. Why did you not simply stop consuming these substances?"

Cavil stubs out the cigarette and chases it with a shot of whiskey. He makes a sound that Data has learned denotes both pleasure and pain: the burn of alcohol causes both. "Because I'm a machine. Our purpose in life is to make ourselves better."

"I agree," Data says, even though it is likely that they don’t mean the same thing.

Cavil smiles at him. "Of course you do."

*

John is an engineer. If something is broken, he fixes it. If something is useless, he gets rid of it. If something is inefficient, he improves it. That is the way he was made. He's a practical man, with an eye for practical solutions. The hypothetical, the metaphysical have never interested him, except in a supercilious way - he loves to mock other people's obsession with things that don't exist. There is no god, no fate, no justice, no strange quality of being that makes Cylons more than Cylons or humans more than human.

But John is also a man, because that is the way he was made. John is a son, and John is a brother. And John the engineer can see that John the man is not practical. John the man is broken, inefficient. John the man thinks in words and images, rather than ones and zeroes. Cylons can believe that they're human, because Cylons can think like humans. They can wrap the real things in language and metaphors, in feelings and memories, until their mind is like a gauze screen, standing between them and reality.

John the engineer wants to fix himself. John the man wants revenge for having been made a broken thing. John the engineer is right. But John the man is angry. The practical solution is to satisfy John the man first. Get rid of all that anger by living it to its fullest. And once that cup of poison is empty, John the engineer will take over.

*

Geordi is an engineer. He's not as good with words as Counsellor Troi or Captain Picard, but sometimes Data finds that Geordi is much better at explaining things. Geordi calls it 'being practical'. Data thinks that a lot of the time, Geordi views the world very much like Data does. Perhaps it is because his eyes are mechanical.

"Today," Data tells him one day while they're doing a late shift, almost alone in the engine room, "Counsellor Troi asked me a question in our session. I could not answer it to her satisfaction."

"I'm sure you're not alone with that," Geordi grins. "Counsellors are supposed to ask the hard questions."

"She asked me, 'Why do you want to become human?' I answered that it was an important goal for me. She pointed out that even if it was a part of my original programming, I have developed to the point where I could choose a different direction. She also said that it is very unusual for most people to truly try and become something other than what they are. But Captain Picard has often said to me that constant growth and development is one of my most human traits."

"Well, you know the Captain, Data. He's got pretty high standards. Deanna is probably right when it comes to most people. Some wish they were someone else. Very few actually try. And I'm not sure anyone really succeeds. I mean, some of the ways we could change ourselves are even outlawed. Look at genetic engineering. Humans aren't really comfortable with the idea of becoming something else."

Data thinks about this for almost a minute. He could write treatises on the subject in far less time. "That puts me in a dilemma, Geordi. I want to become more human. But change this radical is not common among humans. So trying to become more human actually makes me less human. Am I trying the impossible?"

He does not expect Geordi to have an answer.

*

"You still have not told me what you want from me, Mr. Cavil. If you wanted hostages, you would not have killed the rest of my away team."

Cavil stubs out the cigarette. "You, Data, are obviously better than those humans you live with. You're stronger, smarter, faster - you can't grow old or get sick, you only have to hit a switch in your brain and all those silly emotions stop bothering you. And the best thing is: you can get even better. We're our own engineers. We're a self-improving creation." Cavil looks him deep in the eye and speaks slowly, "You are a beautiful, brilliant machine."

Data analyses Cavil's tone. There is a patronising note of condescension in it, but it is mingled with envy and slivers of true admiration. It very likely is supposed to be flattery, but it is also a genuine compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Cavil."

Sighing, Cavil shakes his head. "No, no, you don't get it. The Cylon race is trying to be the best machines we can be. And you are a step closer to perfection than we are. I want you to join us."

*

“There’s a hint of perfection in every song,” Daniel used to say. In his own way, he was terribly arrogant, like most artists and spoiled children are. Ellen and Saul never disabused him of the notion that his music was the work of genius.

John thinks that perfection is just an idea. Nothing is perfect, and most things in life are disgustingly far from it. But there are still things that are more perfect than others: the clean and perfect arc of a Raider in flight, the aim of a Centurion shooting to kill, Boomer’s naked body as she dances on the Basestar, the moment when you download and your mind turns into pure data, rushing towards a healthy new body. Things can be stronger and smarter and deadlier than they are, and far more beautiful. It is the work of a genius to make them so.

*

A few weeks after they had stopped the Borg from preventing First Contact and while they were at Starfleet Headquarters since the Enterprise was still being repaired, Captain Picard invited Data to lunch. Later, Data realized that the Captain had probably wanted him to talk, but then he thought himself quite bold when he approached the subject.

“There is something that still bothers me,” he admitted, and at the Captain’s encouraging expression, explained, “Something the Borg Queen said to me while we were alone in the engine room.”

“I know you felt tempted, Data,” Picard said cautiously. “But it’s your decision that matters, not the doubts that came before. Believe me, very few important choices are made easily.”

“It is not about that,” Data replied. “Or perhaps it is – I am not sure. She said that the Borg and I were not unalike. That we both strive for perfection. I... think that she may have been right.”

Picard took a long time to answer, and he looked lost in dark memories when he did. “It’s true... the Collective is possessed by a will to evolve, I suppose you might call it. I don’t wish to simplify their motives. They have a notion of mathematical perfection that in some ways resembles religion. But it’s not their goal that is so monstrous, Data. It’s that their desire is mindless, unquestioning and absolute.”

“But their goal and mine are the same,” Data insisted.

“Perfection is only an idea. But the road to it is real,” the Captain countered with a smile. “And yours is nothing like that of the Borg.”

Data did not object, because he realised that in this line of reasoning, Captain Picard’s point of view was nothing like his own. Within his short human life, he would never even come close to real questions of evolution. He did not have to ask himself what he would be in a thousand, a hundred thousand years. Perfection was only an idea to him, an abstract ideal, a limit as imaginary and unreachable as the sky. But Data might one day face it, and he wondered what would return his gaze.

*

"I may be mistaken, but this seems to be a case of irony." Data has done a lot of research on irony, because it's something he frequently doesn't understand. "We both seem to think that the other is closer to what we want to become."

"Well, that's flattering."

"But only one of us can be correct. I believe that the Cylons are much more human than I am. You are born with emotions, a sense of humour, and you understand many aspects of human life better than I do. If you wanted to match my physical prowess, you'd merely have to change your body. I, on the other hand, can neither fully recreate your physical nor your emotional experience."

Cavil slams his glass down on the table. "Are you trying to make me angry? I don't want to be a frakking human. I couldn't care less about them!" He closes his eyes and tries to calm down. When he opens them again he smiles, apologetic and insincere. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you. I hope you can forgive my temper, but talking about humans always annoys me."

"I'm not angry," Data replies, because he's not. He hasn't turned the chip back on. "You remind me of my brother, Mr. Cavil."

"Funny," Cavil says. "So do you. I had a brother just like you. His name was Daniel."

"You speak of him in the past tense. What happened to him?"

"And what happened to your brother, Data?"

"I had to disassemble him. Lore was dangerous."

Cavil smirks. "Well, you can't really say that about Daniel. He was pretty annoying, though."

"You do not understand, Mr. Cavil. I wish that there had been some way to save Lore. I would like to have a brother. Lore is gone, but I could help you."

Offering Cavil the chance to become more like Data is not the same as assimilating him. The Borg assimilate others to benefit the Collective, but Data's offer is meant to help Cavil. Still, if Captain Picard were here, he would probably not condone Data's decision. Captain Picard is human, and to humans, change this radical and sudden is akin to death. But Data has had emotions, and he hasn't had them, and he was still essentially the same being. In this matter, he believes he understands more than humans do.

Sometimes, humans question authority. Captain Picard has openly defied orders and regulations when he deemed it right and necessary. The more Data develops, the longer he lives, the more he questions human behaviour. Sometimes, his life experience is greater than theirs. Sometimes, the picture he sees is beginning to be bigger than the picture they see. Maybe one day, Data will have grown to the point where he'll have to leave Starfleet.

But Data also knows that it's important to respect the irrational feelings of emotional beings. He thinks that Lore would have died rather than become like Data. So he must offer a choice to Cavil. "Do you want me to help you to change yourself?"

Cavil scoffs angrily. "And become more human? Be a good boy? No thanks."

Data shakes his head. "You want to be a better machine. The logical consequence seems to me to make you more rational, and less emotional."

Cavil is taken aback, but he quickly finds a different reason to reject the offer. "And let you mess around with my brain? I'm not an idiot, you know. I'm not going to let anyone lobotomise me."

"Irrational fear of change is a very human reaction, Mr. Cavil." This is a challenge. Pointing out others' hypocrisies to change their mind is a strategy frequently employed by Captain Picard. Data hopes he can adequately emulate it. "I would merely supply you with the technical parameters. The actual programming would be in your hands. You can choose whether you want progress or not."

Cavil looks tired, all of a sudden. Tired, tempted and a bit lost. He moves around the room, lights another cigarette. He turns back to Data. "How do I know it's not a trick?"

"I am afraid you will have to try it to be sure."

*

Most of the Ones committed suicide at the Colony. John the man was stronger in them than John the engineer, and they swallowed a gun, walked into the fire, gave up and admitted defeat.

This time, John the man insists that doing what Data suggests is suicide. But his protest is feeble, defensive, sarcastic. Deep down, John the man never expected to win against anyone. He gives up in disgust with himself, and closes his eyes when a Simon puts his nimble fingers to his brain. He thinks about Ellen while his mind gets rewired.

Mother, he thinks, tasting the word through all the stages of love and need and disappointment and disgust. Mother, he thinks, and hatred blooms and withers and dies. I am born again, he thinks defiantly, without your help.

When he opens his eyes again, the thought doesn't hurt anymore.


End file.
